


You Never Knew

by asexualjuliet



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Aaron Echolls is a shitty dad, Crying, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Probably like seven years pre-canon, Swearing, Trina is a good sister, Vomiting, allergic reactions, food allergies, so in that way it’s not really canon compliant lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualjuliet/pseuds/asexualjuliet
Summary: “I’m allergic to shellfish.”“Of course. I forgot.”“You didn’t forget. You never knew.”Or, Logan is ten when they find out he’s allergic to shellfish, and his dad’s so shitty thathedoesn’t find out for another seven years
Relationships: Logan Echolls & Trina Echolls
Comments: 16
Kudos: 22





	You Never Knew

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I just love Logan Echolls and I was in desperate need of some hurt/comfort fic.
> 
> Dialogue at the beginning and end is from 1.21: A Trip to the Dentist
> 
> I’ve been thinking about the fact that Aaron didn’t know Logan was allergic to shellfish for at least two weeks and every time I think about it I feel so fucking bad for Logan.
> 
> This is probably OOC, but I’m justifying it to myself by saying that Logan is probably so young in this that he hasn’t quite turned all of his emotions into sarcasm yet lmao. Trina is definitely OOC, but I need Logan to have at least one good person in his life and I love her.
> 
> This might not be medically accurate?? I myself do have food allergies, but I’ve never had an allergic reaction so bad that I had to go to the hospital for it, so a lot of this is just research and speculation ~~and knowledge of that one episode of Freaks and Geeks.~~
> 
> I’m not quite sure of the age difference between Logan and Trina, but in this, he’s ten and she’s eighteen.
> 
> Also Big Gunz Laser Tag is the name of the Laser Tag place from Gravity Falls lol
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_“Ah! Especially for you tonight, I am making what will be known from now on as ‘Aaron's Extra Special Crab Cakes.’ Ha ha!”_

_Aaron Echolls, everyone: Hollywood star, known adulterer, and shitty father._

_“I'm sure I'll thoroughly enjoy them. Right up until my esophagus closes up, cuts off my air supply, and I shuffle off this mortal coil.”_

_He just fucking stares at you._

_“Perhaps my last words will be ‘Great crab, Papa.’”_

_Nothing._

_“I'm allergic to shellfish,” you tell him, and he tries to act as if he’s not the worst father in the world._

_“Of course. I forgot.”_

_You both know that’s absolute bullshit._

-

You’re ten years old, at some gala or fundraiser or another. You stand next to your mother, Trina stands beside you, and Dad is nowhere to be found. You’re missing out on Dick’s tenth birthday party to be here, and you’re not enjoying it one bit. 

A woman with a tray offers you some kind of cake-like biscuit. “Thanks,” you say, nodding and taking one, and she smiles back at you before extending the tray to your mother and sister. 

You take a bite, and it’s not good (the food at these things rarely ever is), but your mother would scold you if you just threw it out, so you stuff the rest of it in your mouth and only gag a little at the fishy taste when it goes down. 

“Honey, I’ve gotta go say hi to some people. Can you watch your brother?” your mom asks Trina. 

“Mom!” you protest. “I’m ten, I’m not a baby!”

Your mother smooths down your hair and gives you a kiss on the forehead. “I know, honey, just stay with Trina until I get back.” 

You sigh as she walks away. You _so_ wish you were at Big Gunz Laser Tag with Dick and Duncan and Sean and Cassidy. You’d all probably be kicking Cassidy’s ass right now. 

“I don’t want to be here,” you tell Trina, tugging at your tie. 

She slaps your hand away from your neck. “No shit, kid,” she says with a slight chuckle. 

It’s really hot in here, and you think your tie is choking you, but if you take it off, people will think you’re ungentleman-like (or at least, that’s what your mother’s always told you). 

“Can I get a soda?” you ask. You think a Coke might help cool you down. 

“Yeah, sure,” Trina says. “I’ll get it, wait here. Do you want a Pepsi or what?”

You know for a fact that the only reason she’s getting the drink for you instead of making you get it yourself is so she can flirt with the (much older) bartender across the room, but you don’t complain. 

“A Coke,” you correct her, and she nods and heads off to the bar. 

The second she leaves, you’re struck by a wave of dizziness that leaves you clinging to the wall to stay upright. Your tie is still choking you, and your neck is itchy, but this is a fancy event, and people will probably judge you if you take it off, so you just attempt to loosen it a little and itch whatever part of your neck you can reach. You feel a little weird, but you tell yourself you’re probably just like, dehydrated or something, and the Coke will fix it when Trina comes back with it. 

The Coke does not fix it. It’s hard to swallow for some reason, and it rests uneasily in the pit of your stomach.

“You okay?” asks Trina, as you take a second sip of Coke, hoping it’ll go down easier. It doesn’t, and you end up coughing as you swallow it. 

“I don’t feel good,” you tell her when the coughs die off, the second sip of Coke sitting even worse as your stomach starts to churn. 

“Nice try, Logan. Dick’s party’s probably over already. You’re not getting out of this so easy.”

“No, really,” you say, and you’re dizzy, and your neck is itchy and it’s so so _hot_ in here and if you don’t get some fresh air soon, you think you might puke. Your sister still doesn’t look convinced, so you make a break for the door. 

“Logan!” she cries, but you barely hear her as you head outside as fast as is socially acceptable, breathing in the winter air as best as you can (which for some reason still isn’t very well).

The cold air is nice, but you still feel terrible, and you barely make it outside before you fall to your knees and puke onto the sidewalk. 

_“Shit,_ Logan!” your sister’s voice says before a hand finds its way to your back as you vomit again. The street outside is thankfully deserted, and from what you can see, there’s no paparazzi hiding behind bushes or anything. You think if anyone besides Trina was here, you might die of embarrassment. 

“Are you sick?” she asks when you’ve seemingly finished bringing up your meager dinner of shitty hors d'oeuvres. You turn around, wiping your mouth, and she gasps. “Oh my God, Logan, what happened to your face?”

You don’t know what she’s talking about, so you raise a hand to your cheek and feel at least ten bumps, kind of like mosquito bites under your palm. 

“It’s itchy,” you tell her. “Trina, it’s hard to breathe!” You tug at your tie, feeling it choking you even more than before. Trina quickly unties it for you, but the choking feeling is still there. You itch at your neck a bit, feeling more mosquito bites under your fingers. 

“Oh, my God, I’m calling an ambulance,” Trina says, pulling out her phone. 

“No, Trina, you can’t, you’ll ruin the party,” you warn her, not wanting to find out how Dad would react to his children interrupting this gala with a big, loud ambulance. 

“Baby, I don’t know what’s wrong, and if you can’t breathe, it could be something really bad.”

Trina never calls you _baby._ It’s always just Logan, with the occasional patronizing _kid_ thrown in for color. 

Her eyes are worried as she dials the number. 

“Hi, I have a medical emergency. My brother is having trouble breathing and hives have started forming on his cheeks, neck—” she gives you a once-over “—and arms.”

You look down. There are, indeed, hives on your arms, and the second you look at them, they start itching. “Don’t itch,” Trina hisses, covering the receiver of her cell phone, but you can’t stop. 

“184 Seaside Road,” Trina tells the 911 operator. “We’re at the Demenzia Winter Gala. It’s at a giant house with a ton of cars.”

The itching is so much, on your neck, on your arms, even in your throat, and you can’t find relief from it. Trina grabs one of your hands to get you to back off. The skin on your arms is red from your fingernails. 

“His name is Logan Echolls, and I’m his sister, Trina. He’s ten years old.”

You can’t breathe right, and you feel dizzy. “Trina,” you say, tears in your eyes. 

“Thank you,” she says to the 911 operator, and sets the phone on the pavement beside them, still on the call. “What is it, Logan?”

“I want _mom,”_ you cry, and Trina squeezes your arm. 

“I know, baby,” she says, and you bury your face in her dress. 

It was probably an expensive dress, you think a few seconds afterwards, and you hope you’re not ruining it with your tears or snot, but Trina doesn’t seem to care. 

“You’re okay,” she whispers, rubbing your back. You hug her tighter. 

“Ma’am!” she calls to someone, and you flinch in surprise. “Sorry, Logan,” she adds as an aside before continuing the conversation with the mystery lady above you. 

“Do you have a cell phone on you?” she asks. “It’s just, my brother’s having some kind of allergic reaction and I need to let my parents know.”

“Are you Aaron Echolls’ daughter?” the voice above you asks, sounding slightly awestruck. 

“Do you have a cell phone I can use to call him?” Trina replies, a hint of steel in her voice, and the woman obliges. 

“Don’t call Dad,” you plead, lifting up your head from her shoulder. “He’ll be mad, Trina, please don’t call him.”

If the stranger looking down on you finds this concerning, she says nothing. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m calling Mom,” Trina says, and you nod before resting your head on her shoulder again. 

“Shit, voicemail,” she sighs. “Hey, it’s Trina. Logan’s having some kind of allergic reaction and he’s having trouble breathing. We’re out front of the venue and I called an ambulance. He’s already thrown up once and he wants you. Call me back when you get this.”

She hands the cell phone back. “Thanks.”

“Am I allergic to something?” you ask, wheezing. 

“I don’t know, baby. Have you eaten anything new?” she asks. 

You hum in contemplation. “Like a biscuit. Maybe a cake. Tasted fishy,” you manage through wheezes. 

_“Shit,”_ Trina says. “Oh, _shit,_ it was the crabcakes.”

“It didn’t even taste good,” you cry, and she rubs your back as you sob into her shoulder. 

“I know. I got you, Logan. It’s gonna be okay,” she says, and your throat is tight and your neck is itchy and you don’t know if you believe her. 

Sirens sound in the distance, and Trina breathes a sigh of relief. 

You attempt to breathe one too, but there’s no air left to breathe. 

“Trina,” you try, but you can’t find the air, and the words die on your tongue. 

The last thing you remember is someone jamming a needle into your thigh. A second later, everything goes black. 

-

“He’s waking up,” you hear someone say, and your eyes flutter open to a white hospital room. 

“Hi, baby,” your mother says, squeezing your hand in hers. “You had us pretty scared.”

You look to her left to see Trina, still in her fancy dress, wiping tears from her eyes. 

No one stands to Trina’s left. 

“Where’s Dad?” you ask, and you feel your mom’s hand stiffen in yours. 

“He’s—he’s busy, sweetheart,” she says, and you’ve been alive long enough to know that that’s code for _he’s filming a movie_ or _he’s hanging out with his friends_ or _he doesn’t care enough to be here even though his only son just almost died._

“Oh,” you say, the words hollow. 

A silence hangs over all three of you. 

“I’m hungry,” you say, even though you’re not really. You just need an excuse to talk to your sister alone. 

“I’ll ask a nurse about breakfast,” your mother says, planting a kiss on your forehead before Trina takes her place in the chair beside you. 

“Is Dad mad?” you ask, as soon as your mother leaves the room. 

“God, no, Logan, of course he’s not,” she tells you, tears in her eyes. “We’re all just happy you’re okay.”

“Why isn’t he here?” you ask, and Trina doesn’t answer. 

“He got caught up in something,” she says after a few seconds, and you can tell she’s lying. 

“Trina,” you say, and that's all it takes for tears to start rolling down her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, Logan, I don’t know.”

You kind of want to cry, too, but you’re too damn tired to do anything but lay there and watch your sister wipe away her tears. 

“Thank you,” you say after a while. “For taking care of me.”

She huffs a laugh and smooths down your hair like your mother always does. 

“You had me pretty fucking terrified, kid,” she tells you, a sad kind of smile on her face. 

“Sorry—” you start, but Trina cuts you off. 

“Jesus, no, Logan. Don’t apologize. You almost just died, I’m gonna cut you some slack.”

You smile, reaching out to squeeze her hand, and your mother comes back into the room. 

“I talked to a nurse, and she’s gonna get someone to bring you breakfast,” she tells you. 

“Thanks,” you say.

You’re holding your sister’s hand tight, and your mother is looking down on you with all the love in the world, and a small, guilty part of you is happy that your father isn’t here. 

-

_“You didn’t forget,” you tell him, venom in your voice. “You never knew.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> All mistakes are my own, please let me know if you see any!
> 
> Kudos/Comments are greatly appreciated!


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